As Told By Stewie
by Dark Herin
Summary: Stewie and Peter are coming home from New Mexico during a fatherson vacation.


As Told By Stewie

By Dark Herin

"Fatman, looky here," I said, holding a rather sharp object in my left hand. Fatman appeared to be a bit confused, but I managed to snap some sense into him.

"That reminds me of my first pocket knife," Fatman began to babble on about his supposedly wonderful childhood when I gave him the look and slipped on a mask spraying a substance in his face. He began to stutter in fear and then he miraculously shut his mouth.

"So, Fatman, will you be purchasing this weapon of choice for me or will you force me to kill you?" I didn't wait for his response, "very well." I waddled over towards the back of the souvenir shop, grabbed a ladder from underneath a man who was hording boxes on the top shelf and walked back to Fatman. I set up the ladder and reached into his pocket grabbing his wallet and pulling out twenty dollars. I waved the bundle in the air then took a whiff of it, "this will do." I walked over to the woman in charge of the cash register and threw the knife onto the counter for I could not reach it.

"Who's there?" My god, I thought to myself, sounds like Lois. I let out a shrill shriek. I ran over to my ladder, anxious to see if that was really Fatman's slave. After all, she did say that she would be getting a new job. I thought about this for a while but then let my guard down: why the hell would she be working so far from home? And in New Mexico? I climbed the ladder, "few!" I remarked. This woman that lay before me was no Lois; for a moment, I believed I was in the presence of a goddess.

I placed the money on the table. Sliding it towards her smoothly, just like I saw in that damn Tom Cruise movie when the bartender is serving the drink…what was it? White Chicks perhaps? She gave me a smile, "what an adorable little baby you are!"

"Me? Adorable?" I laughed, "What a preposterous notation you brought forth. Now, woman, isn't it about time you've rung up that item?"

She gave me a stern look, "why would a child need a pocket knife? Is this for your father?" Shit, I thought, I must've said the wrong thing. But no worries, I'll just make up for it.

"No. It's actually for me. See, I live out in the wild. Food is scarce so we must hunt for it. I broke my knife a while ago, and I'll be needing a new one soon," I allowed myself to shed a tear.

"Oh, you poor thing…alright, that will be fifteen dollars, in fact, don't even worry about it. You can have this for free," she handed me the knife, then whispered in my ear, "Don't tell anyone." I chuckled and told her something like, "You have my word."

Fatman approached me holding a condom in his hand, "can you ask her how much this is?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"Because I don't speak Mexican!" God, Fatman is stupid. I should have killed him when I had the chance.

"You know what, Fatman, this is ridiculous!" I grabbed his condom and gave it to the woman, "my father would like to know the expense of this object."

She looked at it, "well, I guess five dollars. It's supposed to come in a pack of twenty. Here, I'll grab one that isn't opened." She came back and handed me the pack of rubbers. I gave her the money and left, dragging the creature by the arm.

Once Fatman and I reached our hotel room, the madness began. It was quite apparent that Fatman was having fun with his "toys," it looked like. He would not let me rest in piece. He continued to fling the condom at me even when I put the knife to his neck. Finally, he went to sleep and I was able to rest as well.

As I slept, I couldn't help but dream of that cashier lady. Her thin blonde hair haunted me along with her holy appearance. She had blue eyes that shimmered in contrast to the dark and shady store. I dreamed that her lips were pursed onto mine and we were doing it. Suddenly, Brian came into the room. He had just walked in on us. I grabbed my knife, but then the dog used the force, making it drop from my hands. Damn you dog, damn you! Then Brian began to repeat the same words over and over again, "wake up, Stewie. It's time to wake up." I felt a thwack against my skull. I opened my eyes to realize Fatman standing over me with his fucking condoms. I grabbed them in anger and threw them out the window. Fatman looked at me like I was some disgusting animal, perhaps like Brian.

"You disgusting animal!" said Fatman to me.

"Whatever," I really didn't care. I had a hangover from that vodka bottle I finished yesterday night, so my mind was working a bit slow.

"Well, Stewie, I would ask you to apalagiz, to me at this moment, but we have to go. If we don't leave now, we might miss our plane back to Rhode Island."

"Don't you mean, apologize."

"What?"

"Apologize. Not apalagiz or whatever the crap you just said. It's pronounced apologize." He gave me a stupid look then he grabbed me by the buttocks and hit me on my back several times.

"Does baby need to burp?"

"No, you imbecile, baby does not need to burp! Put me down at once!" But he did not place me on the floor. Instead, he held me even tighter, vacuuming the oxygen from my lungs out. He grabbed our bags and left, still leached onto me.  
When Fatman and I reached the airport, I was already quite irritated. Fatman still held onto me, insisting that, how did he put it? Oh yes, "baby needs to burp." I really hated Fatman, but compared to Satan's sex child, he was brilliant. And when I say "Satan's sex child," I am referring to Lois.

"God, Fatman, I fucking know when I've got to burp. Put me down, or I'm suing you for child molestation; just like I did for Michael Jackson; but this time, it's for real!"

Fatman laughed, "Naughty, naughty Stewie. We've got to learn how to control our anger," he wagged his finger at me.

"Put me down!"

"Alright, then," he dropped me. He just dropped me, can you believe it? And then he said like the cocky bastard he is, "baby's got to learn from his mistakes." I was on the verge of tears, really. Not because he hurt my feelings, because if I could I would drop him on the floor, too, and then laugh over his dead body. I was going to cry because I was aching and sore and was starting to miss home. Fatman walked away from me, and then I heard him call my name.

I walked over towards where he was picking up our flight tickets and dropping off our luggage. He didn't even look at me when he said, "can you tell this man I need a wheelchair?"

"No, I can not. Why the hell would you like a wheelchair?"

He said lowly, "I can't speak the language. Come on, Stewie. For papa?"

"For papa? More like, for Satan's sex child's assistant." Out of the kindness of my heart, I translated what Fatman said in English, to the man behind the counter in English. "This man would like a wheelchair."  
"And for what reason?"

I looked at the creature, "what's the reason?"

"Tell him I'm a nursing mother," he won't believe that, I thought. Fatman must have been thinking the same thing because he grabbed me, lifted up his shirt and stuck my face onto his breast. I was thirsty and upset at him, so I thought it might be funny to see him breast feed. To my surprise, he produced breast milk, and it was damn good.

The man behind the counter heard Fatman's excuse and replied, "Very well then, sir."

Before the man left to grab the wheelchair, Fatman said in amazement, "you speak English! Finally, some Mexican here can speak some common language. You must have gone to a very good school."

"Um, yes. One moment." The man grabbed the wheelchair and aided Fatman into the vehicle. I was still sucking on his breast when I heard that damn British girl, Olivia's, voice. I wanted to die at that moment. Fortunately for me, my knife was in my pocket. I thought about putting it to my heart, but then decided a shot from a gun would be much better.

"I'll make it look like homicide," I said to myself quietly.

"What was that, Stewie?" Fatman thought he heard something.

"I said nothing, you fat bastard. Nothing at all, I did say. Now just go along and wheel that chair of yours," pleasingly enough, he followed my orders. We rolled over to the security line. I read the regulations to myself quietly, "hmm, let's see: no weapons, no liquids…what the hell are they running here? It's almost as bad as boot camp," when I read the no weapon's part, my hand quickly felt my knife. "Ah, whatever," I thought out loud.

I was astonished when we passed the metal detectors and the random security check and none of it detected my weapon. This is working out quite well, I thought. All I've got to do is get onto the plane with this weapon and wield it around a bit until a police officer or whatever comes and shoots me dead.

We boarded the plane, and at this point I held my knife in plane view. We were just about to take off when a man yelled out, "hi, jack!" as he greeted a man. The air marshals came with there guns, shooting him about a dozen times in the head. "Damn it! Why haven't the air marshals come and shot me yet?" I said in disappointed.

We were in the air for twenty minutes when an idea came to mind. I unbuckled my seat and stood up on my chair, I still wasn't tall enough for enough people to see me so I instructed Fatman to lift me up and place me on his shoulders. He stood up. We were plenty tall. "Men, women, and children of all ages, I present you a knife wielding show!" Everyone in the plane was staring at me, but no one moved. I grabbed my knife and stuck it down my throat, passengers gasped as I did so. Then I took it out, following an applause. I then grabbed a lighter from Fatman's pocket and lit the knife on fire. I did exactly what I did before and got the same damn response. Where the hell are the police or the air marshals or whomever the hell are supposed to come and shoot me dead, I thought to myself. A little girl came and asked me for the fucking souvenir.

"Can I see that?" she did say.

"What kind of person do you think I am to give a knife to a small child?" I handed her the knife. She stuck it down her throat splicing it in half. Damn this all! I thought to myself, the whole fucking plane is going to be dead except for me if I don't do something.

Finally, one of those men who call themselves "police officers" came to the scene, "what is that you are holding in your hand? It's very bloody…was that the same weapon that hurt that child?"

"Why yes," a grin wiped over my face.

"I see…I'll be back soon. I'm going to go tell the captain…We will let everyone know the kind of person you really are."

"Thank you! Thank you so much, police officer!"

A few moments later the police officer came back, "I let him know. Oh, the announcement is starting now. Let's listen…"

"Yes, listen we will…"

The damn microphone went on. The captain was speaking loudly, "here in this plane, a hero stands; a hero that is but a small infant. He saved this small girl who sliced her throat. He grabbed the knife from her throat. She is in the back of the plane being taken care of. Congratulations, wee one!" Then the fucking message was over.

"Damn you all!" I yelled so loudly I could probably be heard from down below.

"Oh Stewie, you should be proud of yourself, saving that kid from that knife," Fatman said.

"Shut up, will you! I didn't save that girl, I'm half responsible for her injury, damn you!"

"I've never met someone with so much modesty. You should congratulate yourself, young boy," said the man sitting behind me.

"Yah, yah," I muttered.

It was the end of the flight. Delta Airlines had just landed and I damn didn't die! God, what the hell is wrong me? Why, you tell me, why? I was crying, sobbing actually. I am not the one to make analogies, but I must say that my tears came out like those on a stormy evening. Fatman had to hold my weak body to where Satan's sex child, Chris, Meg, and that damn dog stood.

Satan's sex child grabbed my body and began to cradle me. I hit her and hit her, but the damn animal wouldn't let go. Then she said, "come on, you look a little upset. Peter, Brian, kids? Let's go home." I looked over to Brian, who was giggling. I gave him the evil eye, companying it with the bird, as some individuals call it. He shut his mouth, very good, I did think.

That night, I went to sleep with my bloody knife under my pillow. "I'll be waiting, that I will, for the right time to use my knife. Whether on Lois, or that damn dog, or even…or even…," I drifted to sleep at that moment.


End file.
